


Doctor Please

by HippyChick1964



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippyChick1964/pseuds/HippyChick1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a cop on the beat in Scotland Yard shoots someone, s/he is sent to therapy.  In this instance, the Torchwood Institute felt, considering the circumstances, that Ianto Jones was the one who needed the assistance of a psychologist.  Considering what is going on in Ianto Jones' mind, this may not be a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Please

**This story, _Doctor Please_ , covers ‘fictional’ events across “Captain Jack Harnkess” (Series 1, Episode 12), “End of Days” (Series 1, Episode 13), and “Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang” (Series 2, Episode 1) – weaving together and creating nuisances through my one of my favorite moments  in the Torchwood timeline.  I invite you to re-watch (again, I hope!) these episodes and tell me if you think I got it right.**

Chapter 1

“Mr. Jones?” inquired the secretary, “Dr. Segal will see you now.”

Ianto reluctantly replaced the magazine, a last distraction before he had to relive it, relive Lisa’s death all over again.  “Yes thank you,” he said half-heartedly while walking past the secretary’s desk toward the inner office door.  While turning the handle, his mind wandered, noting how the dark wood molding, cream colored wallpaper, and muted lighting blended well with the conservative décor.  The space couldn’t look more like a therapist’s office if it tried.

When he walked in, Dr. Segal was sitting at a desk, back to a floor-to-ceiling window.  A typical overcast day had sprinkles of light draping through and landing on glass that illuminates her decorative her desk.  She looked up from her bright red half-glasses and stood, “Mr. Jones?”  She paused, smiled slightly when he nodded, “Good.  Please have a seat on the couch and I will be right with you.” 

Ianto returned the nod and obediently took a seat as told.  He tried not to but found himself studying her closely.  Dr. Samantha Segal was an attractive, middle-aged woman.   Her olive skin and shortly cropped tight curls implied mixed heritage while her accent said East London.   He didn’t want to stare, so he shifted his look, examining the room – warmer and more modern than the waiting area, with another picture window that lead to a balcony and mini garden across from the couch.  A matching beige high-back, comfortable-looking cushioned chair was slightly to the left.   A half circle end table connected the two and had the expected box of facial tissue as well as a coffee coaster.

“Please help yourself to a cup.”  She pointed to a beautiful dark wood secretary on the far side of the room near a standing marble and copper water fountain with various sized bonsai trees dotting the bottom.  Besides a pitcher of ice water, the carafe had a single serve coffee maker, a basket with a variety of teas and coffees, a variety of sweeteners (including honey), flask of milk chilling in a caret of ice, and several mugs.  “I understand you are a coffologist.”

Ianto had taken a couple of steps toward the machine to examine it more closely but looked over his shoulder suspiciously when he heard her supposition.  He thought first to make a snarky comment but quickly thought the better of it.  “A Keurig Vue, top-rated machine that majors in customization; makes a variety of drinks, coffees, lattes, teas, espresso; best features are the choices of the strength and temperature as well as an internal water filtration system.”

Dr. Segal walked over and stood above the chair by the couch with a note pad and file folder in the crook of her arm.  “It is noted in your file,” she said looking at him expectedly.

He poured a cup of water and stiffly took a seat at the farthest corner her could.  “I’ve never done this before but you probably know that too.”

“I appreciate your discomfort, Mr. Jones.”  Her voice switched, more welcoming, “However, as you know a debriefing after a critical incident is standard procedure.  And what you said is untrue as you were interviewed after the Battle of Canary Wharf.”

Ianto cringed.  He wondered if joining Torchwood was his original mistake.  “I was interviewed by someone different then.”

“Things have been modified, improved since then.  We no longer use interrogators,” Segal sat back in her chair and opened the file folder.  “And in situations such as this, the Institute prefers a more personal approach.”  She looked at him from above her glasses, welcoming him to continue.

He avoided eye contact.  “What do you want me to say?”

Her eyes softened, trying again to engage him, “Please, Ianto.  You’re not being accused of anything.”  She thought for a moment, “Tell me about Lisa.”

With watery eyes, he tried to avoid the therapist’s glaze.  It had only been a few weeks and her death still felt raw.  “I had other options, other experts I had planned to try if it didn’t work.   I hadn’t expected things would get so out of control so quickly.”  He thought for a moment which took the lump from his throat, “I wanted to tell the others.  I wanted to be honest.  I thought Owen could even help.  He may be a self-centered bastard but he’s a brilliant physician.”

“You wanted to try trusting your colleagues?”

“They hadn’t experienced the Cybermen, didn’t know what they were like, weren’t scared of them like everyone else.   I’ve researched the condition that brings on the loss of humanity.   I’m not Tosh but I still think a cure is possible if you can reach the person early.”

“You thought you’d start the process, then broach the team.”

Ianto sighed, “Yes.  I didn’t think I could keep it a secret forever but just long enough to prove to them the process worked.  It would have been cure, revolutionary.”

Segal took some notes in a stenographer’s type but seemed to stop mid-stream, putting her pen, notepad and folder on the side table.  She removed her glasses, then crossing her legs, she leaned toward him.  He hadn’t noticed earlier her large green eyes, which without the eyewear, were warm in a mothering sort of way.   “There have been some successful reversals but the subjects were not quite the same as they were before.”  She seemed to Ianto to speak from experience – likely from some highly classified U.N.I.T. experiment.  “The difference was often too much for the person’s family and friends.”

“I had to try.”

“Yes, of course,” she said.  Cocking her head slightly, she asked, “What about Captain Harkness?”

“Why?”

Segal looks at him curiously, “You don’t trust him?”

“I don’t understand him.”

“He’s your boss.”

“He’s erratic bordering on irresponsible.”

“He’s your commanding officer.”

“He’s confusing, hard to follow,” Ianto thought the man’s scent moved by as the therapist said that.  He grinned unconsciously.

“You like working for him?”

Ianto stuttered, “He is . . . intriguing.”

Segal shifted again in her seat, certain she was finally getting somewhere, “Tell me about that night.”

“You read the report.”

“Lisa attacked you.”

“She nearly killed me.”

“What happened?”

His eyes narrowed as he thought back, “I was trying to calm her, get her to stop, to see reason, to remember me.  I thought I could get through to her.”  He swallowed hard, the tears were coming back, “Everything went black then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me.”

“He?  He who?”  She picked up the file to look for something and when she found it, she continued, “You had passed out and Captain Harkness revived you.”

“No medical personnel would call what he did standard _resuscitation_.”

“It tasted good?”

Her allusion should have startled and embarrassed him but strangely it didn’t.  “When I woke up, he was protecting me, keeping me quiet so the Cyberman couldn’t find us.”

“Protecting you from Lisa?”

“That wasn’t Lisa.”  At that moment he recognized, accepted that the creature that had attacked the team, that tried to kill him, was not his fiancée but a creature of pure evil.  It was an uncomfortable idea and he quickly pushed it away.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Who do you blame for her death?”

Without pause he replied, “Me.”  He adjusted himself and sat up straighter like a defendant admitting his crime before Her Majesty’s court, “I tried and failed to revive her, putting the whole team in danger.”  He twisted his neck, releasing his Adam’s apple from his tie knot, ending with raised his chin defiantly, “She couldn’t hear me, couldn’t remember what we had together.”

“Where does this leave you?”

“I was recruited to Torchwood out of Uni.  It was brilliant and Lisa was perfect.  How many men can say they have the best job and a wonderful future wife all wrapped in a Christmas cookie tin.  Well, at least I have the job which is more than most after two alien disasters.”

His sarcasm did not escape Dr. Segal but she ignored it and pressed further, “Have they accepted you back, the team that is?”

He looked down at the hands gnawing at his knee caps, “Gwen has been kind, understanding.  Tosh too but she and Owen don’t say much.  I doubt he even cares.”

“Owen?”

“Jack.”

“Oh?”

“I, we would have stayed with Torchwood.  We had talked about it, making Torchwood our home, raising a family – “the first family of alien fighters” we said to one another.  I dreamed of teaching my daughter to identify rift readings and having my son go Blowfish hunting with me.”  Dreams passed his mind like white silk blowing in the wind.  “Now Torchwood is all I have.”

“Was that the only time Captain Harkness tried to ‘resuscitate’ you?”

“He makes passes at everyone.  He is hard to ignore.”

“I would imagine.”

Ianto thought for a moment, missing her innuendo, “He does make the work, well, interesting.”

“Yes, but he shot Lisa.”

“They all did.  He protected the team, Torchwood is his first responsibility.   Without him, the Institute would die.”

“You’re an admirer?”

“No, just a student.”

 

Chapter 2

Jack Harkness entered the inner office from around a tall planter on the balcony.

“Do you understand the meaning of the word ‘confidentiality’?” asked Dr. Segal once she was sure Ianto had left the room.

He gave her one of his charming, solicitous grins, “What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t worry, he’s quite loyal, Captain,” she laughed back at him, shaking her head at him.

“I won’t have any more trouble, no more surprises out of him?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!”  She walked around the back of the carafe to a cabinet and removed a bottle of hyper-vodka then poured two glasses.  Handing him a double shot, she then shifted the subject, “Jack, I saw Rabbi Telebaulm and the Doctor.  We agree.  You should marry again.”

“Oh no!  You all must have forgotten what happened the last time.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Depending on which timeline you’re following,” said Jack downing his shot.  “And humans!  Blah.”  He took the bottle from her and poured himself a double shot before the therapist could stop him.  “Now Turlaurens, now that’s a race that knows how to do marriage.  Get me a good Turlauren and I’ll get married six times.”

Segal put her glass down and walked away from him saying, “Turlaurens only live 5 weeks.”

“That’s what I mean!”

She returned to her desk and sat down.  The sun had come out fully in a mid-day sky and framed her providentially.  “Jack, you need to settle.  Your team is fine, actually doing well from what I can gather from the reports.  Her majesty may be calling on all of you more often, possibly reopening operations in London again.”

“Ah, so the ol’ girl has delusions of grandeur again, eh?’ Jack didn’t dare look at Segal.  That damnable Mother Superior look she had about her sometimes irritated him.  This was not the kind of spanking he was looking for at the moment.  “Anyway, how did Jones come out.”

She looked up at him queerly as she reopened the file folder containing Jack’s incident report.  The fact he referred to him as “Jones” alerted her trained mind – in all of his reports he referred to his subordinates by their first names.  “Ianto is fine, quite loyal, I assure you.”

“Loyal workers don’t try and get your Hub blown up,” he muttered, rolling the shot glass around in his hand.

“I meant he is loyal to the Torchwood Institute,” now she knew she was on to something.  “And, I think he finds you, oh how shall I put it, fascinating?”

“He used me.”

Sitting back in her chair, she knew she had him, “And you knew this when you hired him.”

“I knew he was hiding something but I didn’t think it was a Cyberman in my basement closet.” He walked over to her desk in his usual strident manner, grey coat swaying perfectly.  “I just need to know if I can trust him now that he has no reason to stay around except revenge.”

She returned to the report, signed a space somewhere near the bottom, careful to check the “ready to return to duty” box before continuing, “You can, that I don’t worry about.  But can he trust you?”  She closed the file and motioned to hand it to him.  “Jack, I sense something brewing here, something that makes sense for you right now.”  He started to tug at the folder but then thought the better of it.  “Gwen’s affair with Owen won’t last much longer if it hasn’t stopped already and we’ve talked about this, she isn’t an option – you would do her no good.”  She let the file go and in doing so the sound of his harden grip made a snap in the air reflective of his irritation.  She sighed then continued, “You know Gwen’s timeline.  If you interfere much can and will go wrong.”

Jack acted as if he was looking through his incident report for the first time.  “I know.”

Dr. Segal came from around her desk.  In her black pumps, she was nearly as tall as Jack, making it fairly easy to place her hand on his shoulder give him the most motherly of kisses on his right cheek.  In his ear she whispered, “Ianto isn’t Gail”.  Jack’s back stiffened at the mentioning of his ex-wife, the women who refused him access to his daughter and turned the child against him.  Segal knew what she was doing though and squeezed his shoulder gently before continuing, “I think there may be something there, something that could be special for both of you.”

Jack relaxed a bit and shifted the conversation, “Hey doc, what is the perfume you’re wearing.”  He mockingly inhaled deeply, “and why is it we’ve never gotten together?”

The older woman smile brightly and returned his compliment with a short smack on his ass, “Because where I come from, we don’t intermix. “  She turned him around and gave him a nudge toward the door, “Now get out of here you intergalactic Casanova and save the world or something.  I’ve got to get ready for my next patient.”

But before she could turn around herself, he swiftly shifted his weight, turned , then grabbed her face before kissing her lips in a manner usually not reserved for family members.  She was not surprised, just caught off-guard.  “Thanks, doc!” he said, breaking of the kiss before dashing out her office, leaving the door slightly open.  Segal shook her head at his incorrigibility but smiled at his happy-go-lucky character. 

However soon after, she had a sudden and intense itch.  “Brenda,” she called out to her secretary.  The slight woman scurried into the room.  “Get this ridiculous suit off of me.  It’s irritating my skin horribly.”  Segal started pulling intensely at the back of her neck. 

The secretary moved behind Segal and moved her hand to the nape of her boss’s neck, just underneath the hair line.  As she moved her hand back down, beneath what now could be seen as zipper was green, lizard-like skin.   

“Did Mr. Jones schedule a second appointment?”

“Yes,” Brenda answered, “next Thursday, 6:30.”

Segal smiled slightly to herself.  She was certain Ianto had more story to reveal and rebury.  Rabbi Telebaulm, Jack’s leadership counterpart in the Tel Aviv office and Earth’s primary intergalactic ambassador, and the Doctor, Time Lord extraordinaire and the planet’s guardian angel were playing cupid.  They knew Jack well, from as far back as his days at the Time Agency.  But they were taking a chance – Jack need this alliance but Segal felt someone should keep an eye out for Ianto’s interests, or at least give him a fighting chance to choose his own fate.  “No history is inevitable,” she thought to herself.

Brenda’s question brought back, “Which outfit do you require, ma’am?”

Segal wiggled and stretched out of the human-like skin.  Upright and fully revealed, she resembled a gecko, with big brownish eyes, wide mouth, and small appendages.   “Ah, I believe the Centurion suit should do.  I believe the Radissons are due at 2:30 for their couple’s session.”

 

Chapter 3

The following week, back in human skin (albeit wearing a midnight blue Armani Collezioni suit with an ivory colored Vera Wang blouse and matching Jimmy Choo pumps), Segal sat in her treatment room with a slightly less anxious Ianto Jones.  She sought to increase her credibility with him, “The contents of this and any additional session will not be reported to the Institute.  You may speak freely without fear of loosing your position.”

“You asked me here, Doctor.”

“’Fit for duty’ only relates to work not with the rest of your life.”  She hoped this would be the last lie she would have to tell him.  “Lisa’s death was a tragic loss.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so,” Ianto said sardonically.

“She was admired at the Institute, an exemplary record.”  Segal waited a moment, then asked, “How do you remember her?” she smiled slightly, employing a tone of resolute but honest concern.

Ianto leaped on this, “That’s why she was worth saving!  I didn’t do it just … just because I loved her.”  He took a breath, narrowed his eyes and looked determinedly at Segal, “She was the best, the best field officer they ever had.  She resolved alien cases that had been cold for years!  They were lucky,” he dropped his head in resignation, “I was lucky to have her.”

“Lucky?” asked Segal as she stood and walked to the Keurig.  “I have several new blends,” she said pointed to the K-cup carafe like Vanna White about to turn a cube into a vowel.  “I am sure this is more humble than what you are used to.”

Ianto joined her at the stand, eyeing his options, “On the contrary, I have installed the Keurig Vue at the Hub.  The team has different tastes when it comes to coffee and sometimes, when things are most scrappy, a simple, English cup of tea won’t do.”  He readily chose an Ethiopian Yirgacheffe Konga before turning to her to indicate, “However, Styrofoam is out of the question.” 

Segal nodded, walked to the door and opened it slightly to ask her secretary to bring two ceramic mugs.  The secretary responded quickly and, as therapist and client returned to their seats, she quickly completed the coffee making process then handed them both their steaming cups and left the room such that no one would have known she had been there.  Ianto admired her efficiency and her arse as she left the room.  Segal caught this and considered it an encouraging sign.

“Give me a remembrance of Lisa,” she requested.

Ianto sipped at his coffee, ignoring its heat, eager to enjoy its delicate floral aroma and imbibe its rustic hints of lemonade, peach, ginger, and hazelnut.  He knew that the good doctor was using caffeine to seduce him into talking and that he needed to acquiesce. 

“They were right, she was an excellent agent, the best.  They were right too in that I didn’t deserve her.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Ianto confirmed, “I got lucky.”  He sipped at his cup again, like a prisoner on his second day of freedom.  Then, he reluctantly put the cup down on the coaster, acquiescing just a little more, feeling the whole story emerge like a newly set stew coming to boil – it had been a while since he’d accessed the good memories.  “Torchwood London wasn’t like the Cardiff Hub.  Things were highly ordered.  It was more of a library or central computer…not where the action was but where those who had to act got their information, their orders or direction.”  He smiled like a retired copper missing his old days on the force.  “But unlike Home Office, where I had interned during Uni, you weren’t made to feel like a second citizen to the Special Ops folks.”

“Lisa was Special Ops?”

“She was better than that.  She was Section 12.”

“Section 12?”  This was not in the archival reports Segal read on Canary Wharf.  Section 12 was an elite force of specially trained field agents.  Applicants had qualifications that would make any special ops recruiter orgasmic – you had to have served in combat with distinction in Her Majesty’s service or with MI-6, your I.Q. couldn’t be lower than 120, and at one of your parents had to have worked at the Institute.  These folks were James Bond on steroids.  And although one’s status as an agent was never “recorded” in Institute files, everyone who served had a special computer chip implanted in their inner right thigh.  This device served several functions, but the most important was its self-destruct feature - an electronic cyanide pill agents were instructed to activate should they be captured by an alien force and their mission became impossible.

 Segal said, “She had to be . . .”

“Exceptional,” he finished.  “She was.”  He hid his boyish grin behind another sip of coffee.  “Her father was Israeli and worked at Torchwood Tel Aviv. He met her mother there while she was on loan from the London offices.   Lisa grew up in Israel - entered her compulsory service but was quickly recruited for Shayetet 13.”

“The Israel’s special ops forces?” 

“Yes, but after her younger brother was killed in ‘05 by a Palestinian suicide bomber while outside a local nightclub, she decided to come with her mother back to London.  Torchwood One had already tried to recruit her but the death of her parents’ in a car accident two months later left her knackered.”

“So she joined Section 12?” asked Segal incredulously.  Segal realized she had uttered hastily when she noted Ianto’s frown, “What better way to get yourself killed while denying that that’s what you want than by killing aliens.”

Ianto settled against the back of the couch and finished his coffee.  Confident now that the doctor got this picture he was drawing of his lover, he rested the empty mug on the end table, closed his eyes and spoke again.  It was as if he was describing a movie to a blind man.  “I first noticed how fit she was when she entered the briefing room that first day.  There had been rumors about her for weeks prior to but until she walked in I didn’t believe any of them.” 

Segal noted an almost sinister smile emerge over his face that looked like something the Joker would save for an encounter with Batman.  _There was a darker side to this man_ , she thought to herself.  _And if I can harness this in him, maybe I can save him from Jack_.

He continued, lost in his trance, “We were collected in the board room for a briefing, the six of us and my superior, Tyler Massey.  When Lisa came in with her team, it was as if all the air was extracted and there was her, just her.  I couldn’t believe it, believe I was able to look at someone so beautifully put together.” He paused as if to viscerally relive each moment.  Segal knew this to be out-of-character for the typically reserved Welshman, so she said nothing, letting it ride to see how far things would go.  She wasn’t disappointed as it seemed he seemed to slip deeper, like someone hypnotized, “She moved and everything in the room moved, no shook, and I don’t think I heard he first three paragraphs she uttered.  She was beautiful, a goddess.”

The doctor didn’t know if Ianto was describing a woman or a Greco-Roman statue.  “She took your breath away.”

Ianto yanked himself away from his dream world and directed his irritation at the psychologist for her innuendo, “Yes, I was a young man with more nights of vinegar strokes than shags but I wasn’t uninitiated.”  Segal raised her hands as if to say “mea culpa” but this only embarrassed Ianto further as he recognized his harshness.  He continued despite, but took on a more sober tone.  “Yes, she was breath-taking physically but she brought more than a physique born from years of military training.  Her mind was sharp.  She absorbed all of our statistics and historical quips, calculating mission risk, tactics and ground maneuvers like Joshua Bell commands a Mendelssohn violin concerto.  When it was all over, I thought she had done the research.”

He sighed yet again, returning to the Ianto Jones personae most were familiar with.  He grabbed at his coffee mug, disappointed that he had forgotten it was empty and looked at the doctor pleadingly.  Segal smiled kindly at him and went to set him up for a refill.  “She was like Artemis and Aphrodite put together?  So I can assume that you didn’t ask her out that day?”

“Ah no!  The pseudo-alpha males like Tyler were already chatting her up.  There was a long line to get to her front door, let alone to a dinner date.  It wasn’t until well into the mission that I even got a chance to say more than two statistics to her.”

“The mission?”  Segal asked.  “I thought you were part of research and analysis.”

“Yes, but this was a Tarjohnny – a particularly shrewd race.  Their ships employ a particularly tricky cloaking system and their riff crossings, until then, had no seeming purpose.”

“You solved the mystery?”

“Not completely, “he said about to take a sip again.  “My analysis found that their crossings coincided with the start of many of the world’s wars.  The Tarjohnny are profiteers.  They purchase armaments at the beginning of a war, particularly civil wars, when civilians are busy finding places to hide and the media is caught up in following winners and losers.  Arms dealers are plentiful and more out in the open during these times – no one is trying to stop them, just out bid them.  The Tarjohnny have been taking advantage of Earth’s miseries since the Great War.”

“They couldn’t have gotten much for their effort, considering human backwardness in comparison with the rest of the galaxy.”

“In the beginning they shopped for spare parts but as we got better at war, the deals got better and they came more often.  I cracked the mystery in three days.  That got me noticed.  She pulled me into her ops section to give background on tactics.  We spent lots of time together planning and waiting until the group reached out.  Lisa used her contacts in Hamas . . . . “

Segal nearly choked on her coffee, “Hamas?  The Palestinian terrorist group?”

Ianto smiled wily, “The Israeli’s talk to their enemies more than often than they let on to their American and British Jewish donors.  It is another reason they have survived amidst nations choked by a century violence.”  He noticed the sun had tucked itself behind a building across the street and knew this meant he has little time to finish his story.  Like an eager client, he wanted to finish.  “

“Lisa took my intel to set up a sting in Ashkelon, southwest of the Tel Aviv riff.  In exchange for some advanced Israeli medical equipment and software, Hamas sold the Tarjohnny a load of what they thought was surface to air missiles.  Hamas got the supplies and the $1 million in gold in trade while the Tarjohnny merchants were sent back to their home-world with a timed nuclear bomb in a box surrounded by worthless junk.”

“You both got a commendation.”

“Technically, she got the commendation,” he said, “and I got dinner with her at Petrus.”

Segal acknowledged the irony, “She picked you over the others because . . . “

Ianto finished the sentence, “She knew that Alpha males come in all kinds of packages.”

 

Chapter Four

As the months passed, the team accepted Ianto back into the fold, more from pity initially than from forgiveness.  Whenever disjointed conversations or contentions had an underlying tone of hostility toward him, Gwen led the charge, as was her way, to bring everyone back to the topic at hand.  He appreciated this – her efforts allowed him to stay, the only home he’d ever known.  Still, he kept quiet most times, kept his head down low so as to not draw too much attention to himself.  So for Owen, Tosh, and Gwen “sleeping dogs” typically napped for long stretches.

But Jack was different, as always.  He alternated between belittling and jovial teasing.  Ianto hated it and hated Jack for it.  Initially Ianto thought of it Jack’s way of disciplining him, like some boy’s school initiation process.  Again it was Gwen who would rescue him.  “Jack Harkness, leave him be!” she’d demand with the terseness of a headmistress while smiling at Ianto apologetically, as if saying, “You know how HE is.”  At those moments, Ianto could ignore.  It was when Jack caught him somewhere alone that it stung the most.

Lately he spent his sessions with Dr. Segal talking through career plans – trying to build the strength to leave Torchwood, take a position at the Home Office or some such fantasy – but Jack’s latest tactic had Ianto red-faced, breathless, and soaking wet by the time he arrived at the psychologist’s office some 10 minutes later.

Segal was startled by his disheveled appearance when he stepped off the elevator and briskly entered the reception area.  She was leaning over her secretary and immediately pulled back from her good night kiss to her.  “You’re early, Mr. Jones,” the secretary said to allow her “boss” time to recompose herself. 

She need not have worried as he didn’t notice.  “Ah, sorry, I came straight here from . . . eh, the office.”  It had become so routine to lie about his job at Torchwood, he found he did so even when he didn’t have to.   He did recognize however that not only had he failed to button his overcoat but that his umbrella was broken in half at the runner. 

Brenda rescued him by coming around the desk and immediately taking the drenched coat and broken umbrella, “When one is concentrating, it is easy to forget such trifles.”  Once the coat was carefully hung in the outer office closet, the secretary eyed the broken umbrella, “Now this will not due to get you home.”  She turned to Dr. Segal, “Shall I retrieve a spare from storage, ma’am?”

“Yes, please,” Segal replied as she opened her office door to allow Ianto a hasty retreat.  “And leave it next to his overcoat before you leave.”  The two exchanged quick, apologetic smiles, an acknowledgement that this may extend longer than the traditional therapy hour.

Segal gently closed the door behind her before entering the room as if concerned that her presence would interrupt some solemn mediation.  Ianto sat like a lump of wet sand in the middle of her couch – no coffee, tea, or even water.  She started to offer him something from her hospitality cart but thought the better of it.  She crossed the room to get her iPad to take notes but he started talking and she thought better of that too and just moved her seat directly across from him. 

“It’s like he is baiting me . . . instigating a fight or something.”

“A fight?” she cocked her head slightly to convey her confusion.

Ianto spoke, gazing with narrowed eyes to the left of her face as if conjuring a clarifying image, “He does this to goat me, put me off as if I don’t know what he is doing!”  His voice elevated and his fingers dug into the couch’s armrest like a live man clawing out of a grave.

Segal was at a loss and chose a direct question.  She knew he was talking about Jack.  Ianto had spoken only kindly about Gwen and Tosh.  And he was as dismissive of Owen as Owen was toward everyone he felt was beneath him.  “What did Jack do exactly?”

“He kissed and groped me in the archive room!”  Ianto hissed.  He then fell silent, as if studying the words he just spoken.

The psychologist sucked in Ianto’s air and slowly released it deliberately like a meditating Buddhist monk.  She leaned forward, certain what was coming next but knowing that by Ianto saying it, its power could be released, analyzed, and reincorporated as the he saw fit.  She also knew that it was too late to stop things now and all she could do for Ianto here on out was to walk with him through a dangerous decision.  “He handled you while you were alone,” she said, her voice trailing off as good therapists do.  She cocked her head questioningly in the direction of his glare to encourage him to continue without completely interrupting his train of thought.

“Thursday afternoons I do archiving, make sure that artifacts are properly catalogued and documents are digitized and uploaded with copies going to Torchwood Central Services and to the Hub’s cloud storage.  I’ve been doing this for two years – you won’t believe how much material has been just dumped in those rooms down there!”   He paused a moment, realizing that he was off track but he didn’t look directly at his therapist yet.  “I was down there today, finishing something quite important when HE came in the room.  I thought he was just getting a file or something but then he started talking.”  The last word hissed as if someone had offered him instant coffee.

“Mmm,” Segal said quietly, letting the story flow like a predictable 70’s American sitcom.

“He sometimes does come down to ask for a file,” Ianto continued, missing the implication of her tone.  “I give it to him and he leaves, plain and simple.” 

“This time he left something behind.”

Ianto considered the accuracy of this reflection, “In a way . . . when I gave him the file he asked for, he thanked me.”

“With a smile, no less?”

“Yes, one of those big grins he gives whenever he’s teasing you.”  Segal knew he would want some water at this point, so she got up and poured a glass and handed it to him.  He nodded and took two long sips before realizing that he was thirsty then took another long one before considering his next words.  “I’ve seen him use that grin whenever he’s chatting some . . . someone up.”

“He was ‘chatting you up’?”

A look of recognition came over his face, like a curtain rising at the start of a play.  He not only recognized what Jack had done as well as why it had pissed him off.  “I’m not one of his intergalactic tarts he’d go cottaging off with!”

“That’s what you think he’s saying?”  Segal rested confidently back in her chair as if to get ready, “You make it sound like his “chat” was frivolous.  Is that him or your interpretation?”

“How the hell would I know?”  He said angrily.

“True, I guess you would have to ask him, dangerous though that may be.”

“Why _dangerous_?”

Segal chuckled slightly, “He is likely to tell you the truth.  Then what will you do?”

 

Chapter 5

The thought that Jack could be serious about anything except protecting the world from aliens coming through the rift had never crossed Ianto’s mind.  Jack Harkness was disconcerting enough to thro this type of question into the mix.  “Are you asking me to consider that he was making a genuine pass at me?”

“How would that change things for you?”

“I . . . don’t know,” he stuttered.  “I guess I just assumed it was one of his usual wind ups, another way to get under my skin, another way to use that naff lip of his to control people.”  Tenseness returned to Ianto’s voice.

“So,” she asked again, “how does it matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does it matter whether or not he was chatting you up or sending some signal of affection?”

“Well, that’s some poor excuse for pass!” he said indignantly. 

Segal smiled with several snarky lines just moments from her lips.  “You’re still avoiding.”

“Yes.”  He took another albeit smaller sip of water, “Because telling you what happened would mean admitting that I am lonely…have been lonely for quite some time.”

“Since before you brought Lisa to the Hub, before you tried this last time to save her.”

He sat silently for a while and looked away in shame while tearing up, “I was ever so close…so close to having that dream-life.  You know, that one with brilliant job and the perfect wife and maybe, just maybe that family life I never had.”  Segal offered him more water from the pitcher but he waved her away.  Instead he took a white monogramed handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket to wipe his eyes.  Before replacing it, he looked at the finely embroidered lettering and with an embittered tone said, “It was the first time anyone that fantastic ever paid attention to me, let alone shagged me and then started picking out a townhouse in Notting Hill.”  Ianto ran his fingers across the letters as if the thread itself was reassuring.

“So….Jack’s ‘pass’ reminded you of all that?” Segal asked.

“It wasn’t so much what he did as how it made me feel,” Ianto replied.  “I should tell you what happened, explain my awkward trepidation.”  He sighed heavily, neatly folded and replaced the cloth like a tailor handling a delicate ware.  He continued, “Like I said, I was in the archive, like I always am on Thursdays . . . . .

_“Ianto?!”_

_I jumped not because I was doing someone wrong but because I was trying to do something right - delicately remove a small amount of dust build up from a stone Torchwood Tel Aviv had sent Tosh and Owen to analyze.  It was from Mars, likely one of rocks carrying the DNA that brought life to Earth almost 4 billion years ago and even the dust from a few days in the Hub was dangerous for any future research.  I’d nearly knocked over the tray it was on when he came yelling for me._

_“Yes sir?” I said, likely sounding rather irritated, not as if that mattered as his intensions remained as narcissistic as ever._

_“I’m looking for some flotsam and jetsam?”_

_“The band?”_

_“No,” he nosed around the table where I was working, “Flotsam . . . useless tidbits about the Ritz, a nice little dance hall that has been open since the 40s.”  He slipped in front of me, shifted my tools around like he was interested.  I had to move the tray to a shelf above the table and put the laptop in its place to change his attention.  He kept talking like an ADHD kid who just saw a rabbit, “Just got a call from the local constabulary saying folk are hearing music.”_

_“It is a little early in the day but I would imagine that music from a dance hall would make sense.”_

_“It was closed in 1982.”_

_“Oh,” I said.  I used my torso to move him out of my way and to reposition my computer station and asked, “Anything in particular?  Are you looking for something specifically Torchwood-like?”_

_He situated himself close to my back and began massaging my shoulders with the eagerness of a horny college freshman at a kegger, “I don’t know.  What can you find me?”_

_This is the most forward he had ever been.  Other times he’d just pinch me lightly on my cheek or grab my pencil and toss it around – usually when we were alone.  If the team was around, it would be teasing, solicitous jokes, threats he was going to “catch me at home without my suit jacket on”.  Owen and the rest think were shagging or something.  I’ve never responded to their questions . . . so what if they think that.  I know the truth and that is all that matters.  But this time he touched me and he meant it . . . it was an invitation._

_I got tired of my fingers fumbling pointlessly across the keyboard.  I turned to confront him, tell him to stop toying with me but he was so close . . . I immediately started to fall backwards.  He smelled so good – it gave me an impalpable sensation of clandestine yearning.  I didn’t want to have some dirty shag on some basement floor, I wanted to surrender interminable._

_He grabbed hold of me so I didn’t hit the floor or the table.  “Woa, there big guy!  Can’t have you falling all over this expensive equipment, “he laughed.  “I’ve been known to sweep someone off their feet but this is a bit much!”_

_I looked deeply into his eyes, trying to figure out what he was about – and I’d swear, I’d swear for just a moment, he was serious.  That he was trying to tell me something, something dead important.  That grin, the one he has when he’s trapped into telling you the truth dropped and I saw something akin to longing, no, no pain.  His grip around me got tighter, and he pulled me so close to him our noses were nearly touching.  I closed my eyes and inhaled his breaths . . one . . two . . thr-.  “Ianto, . . .” he whispered, “I can’t . . .”  Abruptly, he let me go, nearly dropping me.  It was like being snapped out of a hypnotist’s trance._

_The room suddenly grew cold and his face became harsh.  “Toshiko and I have to go, check out the rift readings she identified.  I want that information from you when we get back, right?”_

_All I could do was say, “Yes, sir.”_  
  
---  
  
 

Dr. Segal let Ianto’s disappointment hang in the air for a few moments while a slight tear moved down his face.  Then she said, “I am so sorry Ianto.” 

“Yes,” he managed to say between his teeth grinding in the back of his throat.  “I know, Doctor.  I know.”  He sucked in air while recomposing himself, stiff upper lip and all.  “I’ve fallen in love with my girlfriend’s murderer.”

“Ah, Mr. Jones,” she replied, “That isn’t the worst of it.”  She reached to the floor to pick up his buzzing cellphone and handed it to him.  “The worst of it is you’ve fallen for Jack Harkness.”

He eyed her inquisitively before noting that it was a text from Owen, “GET BACK HERE. THERE MAY BE A PROBLEM.”  Ianto got up, “I gotta take care of this.  Next week then?”

“Yes, of course.”  Segal said as he dashed out of the office.  Ianto was gone and didn’t hear her say, “I have a feeling you’re going to need more than therapy to save you, Mr. Jones.”

 

Chapter 6

Rabbi Aliyah Teelbaulm’s attention jumped from the obscure Talmudic text, to lettering on an alien artifact, to an email from Toshiko.  In her office at Torchwood Tel Aviv, she had been spending the last several months gathering evidence to prove to her superiors that the “Hashem” or the Divine Being Jews had been celebrating originated as particles of dust from Mars.  This was going to be difficult not because of any disbelief in aliens – the Land of Israel had been another locale for rift activity for quite some time (if the public knew that the real reason the Americans so adamantly supported Israel was a deal struck that the Jews would be the first line of defense against an alien invasion – what “land for peace” really meant – several still living U.S. presidents and British Prime Ministers would need double their secret service detail).   But no Israeli politician would be strong enough to fight 6,000 years of tradition from the mouths of ultra-Orthodox constituents with indignation on their side without substantial proof.  Additionally, she didn’t want to drop such science into the laps of secular folks or atheists who envisaged a justification for their laizerre-faire morality.  She knew, as a former member of the Time Agency, that the universe wasn’t that cut and dry.

Her mobile hummed and she had to squint to see the caller ID over her half glasses.  It was her long-time friend, Samantha Segal.  Teelbaulm put her glass uptop her dreadlocks and rubbed her eyes for although it was always good to hear from her colleague of over 100 years, she also knew any call from England bode ill-tidings.  “Sammie!  How are you?  Have you finally made an honest woman out of that hot secretary of yours?”

Samantha shook her head.  She always felt Aliyah took the religious customs of Earth too seriously but knew the good Rabbi met well, “Brenda’s always been honest and my companionship has only secured that quality!”

“Hurumph!  You’re just too busy buying expensive office furniture to get that gal a nice diamond,” Aliyah replied.  “I didn’t know they had stationed you in the U.K.?”

“Yes, well after the blow-back from the Canary Wharf affair, there was a great deal of collateral damage,” Samantha explained.  “Many of the people who died there had family or friends in the Institute and it wasn’t feasible to recon them all.”

“Or ethical either,” Aliyah sighed sadly.  “It was a shame, the decision to permanently close the London office though.”

“Yes, but Parliament wouldn’t have it.  The public support was razor-thin already and that mess only made things worse.  They wanted things to quiet a bit, revisit things again in a decade or some such.  And Cardiff is a nice quiet place, out of the public eye.”

“Which leads me to believe this call isn’t social and there are problems with my old friend, Jack?” asked Aliyah rhetorically.  “You know Sam, I still stand by support for his elevation to lead the reformed team out there.”

“I’m not calling to rehash that,” assured Samantha, “you and The Doctor know him best but I am concerned about his behavior with one of his subordinates.”

Aliyah rolled her eyes, “Typical Jack!  I bet the poor child is some young thing with an eager baby-face.  I wouldn’t worry.  Jack will tire of ….  Is it a him, her or other this time?”

“A him, not so young but vulnerable, very vulnerable,” confirmed Samantha.  “And there isn’t just one, there a girl too.”

Aliyah groaned.  “Not again!  Doesn’t he remember that problem in ’48?  That scandal with the M.P. and his wife nearly brought down a government!”  That time Aliyah had to leave fighting in the Golan Heights, recon an entire newspaper staff and destroy photos before giving Harkness a thrashing even he still recalls.  Thank G-d there was no Facebook or Tumblr back then!

“It’s not as much of an international problem but equally as complicated this time.  The girl is another one of his team.”

“Is the man fighting malevolent aliens hell-bent on Humanity’s destruction or hosting daily orgies?”

“Don’t worry,” Samantha said to reassure her friend, “Work is getting done according to reports.  And from what I have witnessed personally, you were correct about his dedication to the Torchwood’s cause.”  She could be heard rustling in her chair, clearly uncertain just how to phrase her next thoughts without betraying client-therapist confidentiality any further than she already had, “My client is the sensitive type and clearly picking up on Jack’s feelings.  He has also reported of Jack’s fondness for the girl, who, if my client’s story is accurate, is wavering herself and likely in the middle of some subconscious crisis resulting from joining the team. 

“Damnit, maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged his elevation,” Aliyah said.

“No, no,” Samantha responded.  “At the time, he was a perfect choice – no one else knew the territory better and could jump in immediately and resurrect it.  And you were right, only he had the charm and social sophistication to get the government back on board with us.  But, it’s the whole ‘immortality thing’.  I don’t think he is managing it well.”

“Is that a professional diagnosis?” asked Aliyah only half-jokingly because internally, she knew Samantha was likely correct.  “Jack didn’t come to it honestly, like the many of us and it is a burden to those not raised with it.  He wants to have love like most mortals do and that just isn’t possible” She could nearly hear her friend nodding knowingly.  “Is there anything I can do?  Should I go to Cardiff and have a word?”

“Contact The Doctor – you know how to get a hold of himdon’t you?” Samantha declared.  “As far as I’m concerned, he created this problem.  And frankly other than you, he’s the only one Jack really listens to and I think right now he needs a father-figure more.”

“Samantha you do realize that sounds humanly sexist, don’t know?” smiled Aliyah.

“Darlin’, Jack is more human than most of the rest of us!”

 

Chapter 7

When Ianto called and rescheduled his next session, Segal wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad sign.  When he came to her office two weeks later with a look of calm resignation, she was more perplexed than worried.

“He’s gone again,” Ianto said once he settled on the couch with his coffee.

“Again?  I don’t understand.”

Ianto told her of Jack and Tosh being caught in a time shift in 1941, Owen’s unauthorized use of the rift manipulator to get them back, the rebellion led by Gwen when she couldn’t save her boyfriend Rhys from dying, Jack nearly dying trying to stop the Matador from destroying Cardiff (Segal had read about it in report to the Institute but did not know all the details Ianto was presenting), Jack’s resurrection and disappearance.

Ianto was talking so fast, it was hard for Segal to flesh out the salient details but she felt it important to let him talk first and get clarity later.  “Geeze, quite a lot has happened.  Let me see if I got all the important bits – you shot Owen - doing what you thought Jack would want, you joined the others in a mutiny against Jack that nearly led to the destruction of a city and possibly the world, Jack sacrificed himself and died for what you all but Gwen had thought was permanent, Gwen somehow brought Jack back, then Jack left again for parts unknown.”

“Pretty much,” Ianto replied.

“You know, if I was anyone else, I’d think this was some sort of sci-fi melodrama,” she chuckled and Ianto smiled at the irony but this lasted only briefly.  “You don’t believe he’s coming back this time, do you?” she asked.

“I . . . we don’t know,” he sighed.  “That’s just it!  He’s so damn mysterious, never tells us everything…hell, anything!  We’re playing 20 questions about the simplest things . . . Who are you?  Where do you come from?  What are you, completely immortal?” He looked at her directly, “Did you know that ‘Captain Jack Harkness’ isn’t his real name?”  Segal actually did know this but decided that such a reveal was inappropriate.  He continued, “He stole the name from some poor American chap who died in the war.  We don’t even know the guy’s’ name but still follow him around like some gaggle of ducklings!”

Segal realized she had another clarifying question, “But when you walked in here Ianto, you seemed relaxed, like none of the madness you just described ever happened.”

Ianto’s realized her interpretation was a truthful description of how he felt, at least how he felt now.  “I guess therapy is working.”

“To what do you attribute this ‘cure’?”

He thought for a moment then said, “Those salient moments you mentioned.  They gave me a glimpse into myself.  I’ve accepted some things and taken responsibility for some others.”

“Like?”

He got the list ready in his head before he started speaking, “First, Owen and I were both acting out our own self-interest when it came to the rift – he wanted it open ‘cuz he couldn’t stand loosing yet another love like he just had lost Diane.  I wanted to prove to him I knew what was right . . . I knew what Jack wanted better than he did.  He reminded me of all those _uni_ boys, all those shits in my playgrounds days who thought I was a nothing, a nobody.  I didn’t shoot Owen as much as I was shooting all of them.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I joined with the others to resurrect Rhys for the same reason.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a coward.  Watching, hearing Gwen wail was chilling.  Considering how she had been consorting with Owen and flirting with Jack, well, I never thought she cared that deeply for Rhys.  But her there, screaming and crying, begging Jack to do something to bring Rhys back . . . knowing the tech we have at our disposal, I couldn’t reconcile myself to let another person’s loved one die like Lisa.  Lisa’s condition was too far gone – I know that now.  But Rhys had just been killed and there was still a chance.  I couldn’t let Gwen – she’s always so kind, sweet to me - face what Jack is always telling us – that life, _this_ is all there is, there’s nothing else,” he stopped to take a sip from his cup.  “But there are consequences for screwing around with time.”

“The Matador?”

“I think it was Owen who accused me of being ‘safe and boring’.  He’s right and I hate that about myself.  I used to look at the field officers, even Lisa, and wish I could do that, be one of them.  But I knew that something was lacking.”  He took a long sip from his coffee, enjoying the bittersweet moment before saying, “I’m never gonna be that guy.  It was when Jack lay dead on the slab in the catacombs.  I was still believing like Gwen, believing he was going to wake up.  It was just a matter of time.  I went into his office, started tightening-up things a bit.  I saw his long coat hanging there without him.  I took it down hoping to smell him just once more but nothing of Jack ever sticks anywhere, now does it?  That’s when I cried, wept like a teenage girl alone on a Saturday night.   I’d clung to Lisa – I’m attracted to Jack, for the same reason because of their power, their strength.   I never felt whole around either of them but when I am in their service, I am alive.”

Segal had never heard it put so definitively, a proud dedication to a person, family, an institution that was uniquely British – something rarely found elsewhere although often celebrated across the pond through reverence for epics like _Upstairs, Downstairs_.  Today’s acceptance of America’s standard of individualism made Ianto sound like a quaint throw-back but Segal was an intergalactic cosmopolitan and thus knew his stance was in no way unusual.  “You no longer then resent being called a ‘tea boy’?”

“I don’t see the same way they do, as some limiting, derogatory label but I would prefer ‘coffee boy’.”

They both toasted their coffee to that and chuckled.  Then she asked, “So when Gwen brought Jack back…?  What does that mean for your relationship with him?  Do you think he woke up for her?”

“Jack’s likely has lived, who knows, countless lives and had hundreds, hell, thousands of lovers.  Gwen, me, whomever, no one’s going to hold on to him.  We’re just blips in time for him likely.  If he ever comes back, maybe I’ll ask him . . . or maybe not.”

 

Chapter 8

Over the next six months, Segal saw Ianto only a few times and she was ready at the next contact to explore ending treatment until she opened the outer door to her office one morning to catch the unmistakable wind turbulence and sound of a time machine in take-off.  Brenda was at her desk, resetting her secretary’s hair bun, irritated at how her strictly tidy office had been thusly disarranged.  Pointing to the inner office door, she said, “HE’s in there.”

Segal took a deep breath and, while walking to that door, patted the secretary’s shoulder and said, “Well, we’d better keep that Thursday late afternoon spot open then after all.”

Jack was his usual jovial self.  “Hey Doc!  Did you miss me?”  He was sitting in her chair, with his feet crossed on top her desk, his shoes sprinkling dust like a pepper grinder across the files Brenda had readied for that day’s scheduled sessions.  He pointed to them when he asked, “Have you been taking care of my Ianto Jones?”  He used his charming grin to blow past any apology, as was his custom.

As much as she tried to deny it, that face was working today.  She pushed his feet off her desk, collected the treatment notes protectively in the crook of her arm before saying, “You should leave Ianto and Gwen alone, you shameless flirt.”  She opened her office door slightly and deposited the files safely in her secretary’s keeping.  “You didn’t let your team know where you were going nor when you were returning.  Not a good management move, Captain Harkness.”

“You’d know more about how that happened than I, eh?”  He stood up and let Segal claim her seat while he parked himself atop her desk.  “And you know The Doctor well enough.  The TARDIS is a fickle woman – she lets you go when she is good and ready.”  He jumped down and went to the refreshment table, acting as if he was about to make himself a coffee only to pause, running his fingers across the across the Keurig with his next words coming out with some hesitancy, “You did take care of him, eh?  He’s not too mad at me is he?”

Segal’s eyebrow raised like a mother about to chastise a child, “He should be but I can’t tell you anything, as you well know.”  He looked up at her bashfully, trying his charm again.  “Tell me something Jack, do you really care about those two, Ianto and Gwen?  Because if you do, you have got to try something completely new for you – an attribute you’ve lacked in these last oh, three decades.  You’ve got to approach this with some integrity, some honesty!”

“Oh damn, you’ve been talking to Rabbi Aliyah,” he brushed off.

“No Jack, this isn’t Aliyah talking.  The good Rabbi wants you to marry, settle down again.  I’m not nearly so demanding nor unrealistic, especially after the last time.  Speaking of which, have spoken to Alice lately?”

“Her name is MELISSA!” he growled threateningly.  Segal face remained still as she was not afraid of him.  Immortality was one thing but it didn’t stop him from feeling pain and had he touched her, Brenda would not let him leave the building in one piece.  “My wife wanted her named after her grandmother.”

“I’m just appealing to whatever better nature you still have and asking you at least be honest with them,” she was frustrated at this point.  “Didn’t The Doctor talk with you about this?”

“Honestly!?  Really Doc?  About what?” he replied, frustrated himself now.  “Like he should talk – he lies to his companions all the time otherwise they’d leave and eventually they all do.  They’re humans – they can’t understand, appreciate eternity like we do . . . like I do.”

“You’re human too, Jack.”

“Not like them . . . Not anymore.”  Jack’s shrugged sadly, gave her a good-bye kiss on the cheek, and dashed out the office.

Sighing and with a rare feeling of pity, she watched him go.  She walked into the outer office, where Brenda was still reorganizing the area after its unexpected intergalactic visitors.  “Sweetie,” Segal said, “make sure Mr. Jones has an hour and half time slot for next week, okay?”

 

Chapter 9

As Segal predicted, Ianto called the following week, for an appointment but this time for a Monday morning appointment.  When he arrived, he was dancing on air and when she saw him she reflected on her dislike of how much her profession was like a gypsy reading tea leaves. 

“Well, you seemed well chuffed!” She knew that look.  She had seen it on many of Jack’s conquests – those who thought there was more there than there was.  “And to what do we owe this good mood?”

Ianto did not sit on the couch but stood in front of it, as a neighbor who only came by to drop off the Tupperware you’d left at their house.  “Jack is a back,” he said like some schoolboy who just got a prized Christmas present, “He and I went on a proper date.”

“Really?” 

Segal’s attempt to hide her concern was ineffective.  “Don’t worry Dr. Segal.  I’m okay.” He grinned, “We talked.  He told me things – about his life, how old he is, the things he’s seen, his adventures and how he joined Torchwood.”

“He did, did he?”

Ianto brushed aside her rather awkward sarcasm, like someone hiding living room disarray inside a closet when unexpected guests arrive, “He stayed at my flat this weekend.  No one else from Torchwood’s ever been there.”  He stopped for a moment, letting the memory of it recycle for the hundredth time, more ornate with each remembrance, “He came back and he says he’s staying this time – that we can take it slowly, see what happens.”

“And that’s enough hope for you?” she asked warily, her voice packed with concern.

Ianto, appreciative of her concern put his hand on her shoulder consolingly and feeling confident, replied, “If will have to be now, won’t it.”

****************

Ianto left his psychologist’s office for the last time, knowing he would never see her again, although he didn’t know why.  He did know he was settled, content for the first time in years.  He knew he had a place, a purpose.  He knew he was in love with someone he would never really have and somehow that had become okay – like many young lovers, feeding from the bottomless bowl of intrigue called “who is the real ‘Jack Harkness” felt like it was enough for him.  It wasn’t emotionally healthy and he knew that was his psychologist’s worry but what was healthy about working for Torchwood?  Hadn’t all of Jack’s comrades died in 2000 at the hands of their leader?  If he had learned anything from Jack it was to treasure the moment – take all that life offered and savior it because it might not be there tomorrow.  And don’t invest in the future. 

This last thought gave him pause.  He stopped before turning the corner that led to his flat.  There was a Starbucks across the street – not his typical, high quality fair but he didn’t feel like going home just yet.  After ordering an espresso with a lemon bar, he took a seat at a rather isolative corner so he could think in peace.  Doubts about whatever this was with Jack were nagging at him – mostly because of Gwen.  He didn’t think of her as a challenger to Jack’s affections – one, she seemed settled in her decision to marry Rhys well before Jack came back; two, when he did return the temptation did not sway her, she stayed true to Rhys; and three, she told him not to worry.  She had come to Ianto, the afternoon before he and Jack went out and admitted her attraction but also said she knew that he could never give her the stability she craved but Rhys would.  She had sensed Ianto’s growing attraction and thought they the two of them were “a better fit”.  When Ianto asked why, she said, “I always ask that Jack be caring but with you, he’d learn how to do it – you wouldn’t have it another way.”

But he was still rattled by a nagging worry – Gwen made a conscious choice but could he expect Jack that do the same?  “There I go again,” he said quietly to himself before taking a sip from the cup, “’Demanding a definitive future’ – something Jack said” and he was back accepting he was a member of Torchwood.  Gwen carving a life for herself outside of Torchwood while he was marrying it whole-clothe.  “It’s not so bad for a simple Welsh tailor’s son no one thought would go anywhere, be anything.”  He took another, longer sip while he looked out the window – clueless citizens who thought terrorists and the high price of milk were their biggest worries.  He got to save the world on a daily basis and, Jack promised, would see the galaxy.   Jack Harkness was his . . . lover . . . boyfriend . . . partner?  “Does it matter right now?” Jack responded when he posed the question while they lay in Ianto’s bed last night.  Not really, Ianto thought as he drifted into a memory of something those citizens didn’t have  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Since Ianto chose the movie, Slumdog Millionaire, Jack picked Caban Cardiff, a restaurant a taxi ride away from the movie theater.   The ride there was very nice as Jack offered his thoughts on the movie as if he was Roger Ebert, the famous American reviewer, comparing it to Bollywood movies from the 50s he saw with long dead friends from Torchwood India.  However, if Ianto was honest, he was initially disappointed as the restaurant’s outside looked drab and uninviting.  Jack said, “Don’t judge a book by its cover” and took Ianto’s hand and walked in proudly like they were a proper couple.  By contrast, the inside the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, with soft lighting and wall decorations that gave one a feel of a Lebanese café off the Mediterranean.  The owner’s wife who looked like a gypsy from a Traveler’s caravan was at the reception stand. “Jack Harkness, you sly devil you!  Come here and remind an old lady of when she was young and sexy!”  Jack gave her a big hug and kiss on both cheeks, “Young you may not be but with each time I see you, you become more and more beautiful – you need to bottle what you’ve got.  You’d make millions!”  She gave him a playful shove and said, “You’re a rogue, Jack Harkness.”  Then she turned and sized up Ianto, somehow conscious not to let on that Jack had brought many dates over the decades to her family’s establishment, “And who is this handsome lad?  He looks like he could give you a run for your money.”  Ianto blushed but still attempted to shake her hand.  “Oi, and polite too!”  She brushed Ianto’s hand aside and hugged him just as eagerly as she did Jack.  Then, she pulled back just far enough to offer this advice, “Now don’t let this one,” she pointed back at Jack, “lead you down the primrose path!  He’s good for that now.”  Ianto didn’t have a chance to respond as Jack rescued him by grabbing onto his hand and pulling him into the restaurant’s interior.  “Enough, Josephina!  It’s a first date and we don’t want to scare him off, now do we?!”  She let out a bellowing laugh and her voice followed behind them, “I saved your usual table, Jack.  Enjoy!”_

_The room was more spacious than what one could see from the outside.  Seating was determinately divided – family style tables encircled by small booths for two along the walls and windows to give couples a sense of privacy.  Jack’s window table looked on the street, where the side walk glistened with dew.  It was Saturday night and there was the faint sound of high heels clicking determinately against sidewalk as girlfriends walked by, clutching hopefully on the arm of their dates.  Each table had a fresh single red rose in a thin translucent vase next to a small votive candle.   Jack’s table had to stand out though – the rose was pink and this had Ianto trying to remember the meaning of the color.  As he sat down, he took out his smartphone to scan the Internet but Jack took the phone and placed it solidly on the table, replacing it with a menu.  “It represents admiration and appreciation,” Jack said.  “Oh,” said Ianto with a hint of disappointment.  “What were you expecting?” Ianto thought to himself.  The waiter came and took their drink order – Ianto ask for McEwan’s Scottish Pale Ale while Jack ordered an Old Fashion.  When the waiter left, Jack reassured his date as he noted Ianto’s disappointment with the foliage, “I expect I owe you an apology for before . . . my behavior and all.  You’re not one for teasing”.  Jack was unusually boyish and this made Ianto smile as he couldn’t remember the last time Jack had made an apology that wasn’t some excuse to continue being ghastly.   But Ianto chose not to dwell on that and gave Jack an escape valve, “What was Torchwood like back in 50s?”_

_Jack ordered restaurant’s famous Arabian spiced lamb with cardamom, pistachio and apricot rice while Ianto enjoyed the Lebanese spinach parcels with carrot and beetroot salad.  They shared a sticky toffee pudding for dessert.  All Ianto would remember, could remember each time he relived the date late at night, the few nights thereafter he spend alone in his own bed, was a menagerie of  aliens, pleasure planets, near-misses, and that Jack Harkness was the most fascinating individual in the world, maybe the galaxy.  He did little in the way of talking but instead took a page from his therapist’s approach and asked probing, leading questions.  Jack lapped that up, as he was someone who enjoyed being the center of attention.  What Ianto couldn’t have known was how happy he was making Jack – most people listened to get the story while Ianto was listening because he wanted to know Jack.  Jack remembered that feeling from another past life and it bothered him.  “Segal and Aliyah are right,” he thought albeit defensively while Ianto went to the bath before they left, “I do miss this.”  He was slightly drunk and losing a bit of his usual self-control.  “Damn,” he thought with dash of lustfulness as he saw Ianto coming out of the bathroom toward him, “I’m going to have to stop somewhere before going back to the Hub.”_

_When they headed out of Caban admittedly Ianto was satiated, “Well, thanks,” he said shyly.  “Ah, my flat is actually just up the street.  I can walk from here.”  “You will do no such thing, Ianto Jones!” Jack insisted, slurring a bit.  “I am nothing if not a gentleman who always walks his date to his or her front door.”  He hooked his arm around Ianto’s and clearly was not going to be assuaged.  Ianto shrugged and moved forward.  Jack tightened his hold on him and said, “Did I tell you about the time I was in America hunting a gang of lustful Nephillum?”_

_Lost imagining Jack’s tale, Ianto didn’t notice that the raining had intensified during their five block walk.  And Ianto had forgotten his umbrella.  So by the time they reached his flat, both were drenched.  He was reluctant about anyone being in his apartment – it was his only true privacy, the only place he felt free and could be himself.  But although he knew Jack couldn’t die, Ianto knew by now that he could get sick and did not want him to catch his “death”.  “Maybe you should come up,” he finally said breaking through an awkward silence. “You could get warm at bit while I call you a cab.”  Despite water dripping incessantly down his face, it looked like Jack was going to decline, so Ianto added, “It’s a long way to the Hub and taxis don’t show around here much this time of night.”  Jack looked around at what seemed like blocks of rowhouses and empty streets – Ianto was right, the cabs would be at the clubs eagerly shuttling young bar hoppers to their next stops.  “You’re probably right,” Jack said knowing that he was stuck.  “Or have you trapped yourself?” he thought to as he climbed the stairs to Ianto’s entrance door._

_Ianto’s apartment was what one would expect from a refined, English gentleman in the 19 th Century – dark hardwood floors, matching bookcases covering any wall space that didn’t have an oil painting, and just enough unadorned leather seating for a bachelor - with small additions you’d only find in the 21st Century – a stereo system with an iPod attachment, closed laptop resting on a side table, and track lighting strategically mounted so no one could see inside the space through the opaque floor to ceiling picture window in the lounge - it belong in Architectural Digest.  “Let me have your coat,” Ianto said while he was already removing it.  “I have something that will dry it right away.”  “I suspect you do,” said Jack off-handedly.  Ianto was uncertain if Jack was joking or not, “Ah, please remove your shoes – I don’t walk in shoes here.”  Jack suspected such as the floor shined so brightly that it looked like the cleaning lady left 15 minutes earlier.  “And you might as well give me your socks too, as they are likely to need drying,” Ianto continued.  Jack offered an unsteady, slightly mocking salute and gave Ianto the items.  With that, Ianto removed the same items from himself but organized his in their obvious proper places in a set of wardrobe near the door, likely to be retrieved later.  He started to take Jack’s items into a room just past what would pass as a dinning space in any other home (Jack noted that the four person table had the obligatory vase in the middle that looked like it was only moved weekly to replace the cut flowers and dust properly.)  “I’ll just be a moment.  Would you like some tea?” he asked.  “Sure,” answered Jack as he stumbled around for a safe place to sit where he wasn’t disturbing his Ianto’s obviously highly structured existence._

_When Ianto returned to the lounge some minutes later, he nearly dropped the tray he was carrying.  Standing, looking out the window was a naked Jack Harkness with his clothes scattered in haphazard piles across the Tabriz Persian area rug, as if he couldn’t decide what piece of clothing to dispose of only to eventually run out of clothes.  A moment later, when he realized that Ianto was back, Jack turned around shining his fresh-faced grin as if all was quite normal, with all the glory his mother gave him in complete, firm display.  Ianto put the tray on the dinning room table before he dropped it, completing appreciating Jack’s story of winning a modeling contest on some far off planet, the name of which Ianto wouldn’t be able to recall if his life depended on it.  Ianto was never one to take much notice in men’s bodies except the usual jealous perusal of the cover of some magazine while in a check-out line  – not that he had anything against gay men, as his best friend from back home had come out to him last fall.  And he had seen physically gorgeous women – Lisa was tight and curvy in all the right places.  But this beat all of them and all he could think was, “What do you do with that kind of perfection?”  Of course Jack Harkness was use to this reaction and only said, “It seems I’ve soaked through all my clothes.  I’m assuming you have a dryer?”_

_Red-faced, Ianto quickly picked up each item and, as he got to the pants, Jack said salaciously, “Oh yeah, let me empty the pockets.”  When Ianto stood up and handed him his trousers Jack  was standing so close he could feel Jack’s breath caress his neck – seemingly purposefully brushing against Ianto has he removed various, useless odds and ins, dropping them on a side table next to the settee._

_Ianto took the clothes and left the room angry.  He felt manipulated again, like Jack was pushing his buttons.  Everything was fine until then – a movie, dinner, and walk home – a nice, proper date.  And Jack had to ruin it – treating him like such another slag, like they were back in the basement of the Hub.  “He’s making fun of me,” he mumbled aloud.  “He has to know that I’m lonely . . . bloody randy as all hell.  And what does do?  Tease me . . . cuz he’s not going to do anything . . . he never does!”  Ianto so was busy cursing under his breath while shoving the clothes in the dryer and did not notice Jack was behind him in the utility room doorway._

_“Ianto,” he said apologetically, “You know me, a slave to theatrics.”  Ianto turned around startled.  Initially, his reply would have been a hostile one.  But he looked at the floor, sighed and something Dr. Segal came to mind.  His hostility to Jack’s advances was defensive – both of them had “control issues” and “neither of them wanted to blink”.  Then something else popped in Ianto’s mind, something the good doctor had said that until now made little sense – she was definitively compared a relationship with Jack Harkness as being like living in “A staged bondage after-party” but he was to always keep in mind that in such performances, “The ‘sub’ controls the relationship.”  At that moment, Ianto realized Jack was sincerely offering up the power to him and It was decision time._

_Ianto took in a deep breath of insanity, knowing he would be forever, however long Torchwood living would allow, standing at the edge of cliff during an earthquake, “Well then, Captain, we need to warm you up too now don’t we?”_

_Jack grinned, pleased and more excited than he would admit, even to himself.  “I’m in trouble again.”_  
  
---  
  
 

Prologue – Act One

_I want to stand with you on a mountain._ __  
I want to bathe with you in the sea.  
I want to lay like this forever.  
Until the sky falls down on me.

  * Savage Garden’s song “Truly, Madly, Deeply”



 

Standing in that doorway, Jack Harkness’ body would make a blind man shiver.  But he was real, not like some Photoshopped cutout from _GQ_ or _Playgirl_.   The wonder at what was behind his attraction to Jack’s normalcy would be a constant component of Ianto’s internal deconstructive musings, both in therapy and out.  For his part, Jack would have none of amateur analysis he could see like a BBC News crawl across Ianto’s forehead.  He leaned forward and pulled Ianto into the doorway with him.  With him standing closer, Jack framed Ianto’s face, with a firm hand behind his neck and the other under his chin and whispered into his mouth, as if to warn off any extraneous considerations, “Thinking breeds hesitation.”  Jack kissed Ianto.  His tongue and lips were demanding, a consuming fire that stitched salacious invitations throughout Ianto’s body, exploding nerve endings like overloaded circuit breakers.

Jack pulled back a little and pressed his forehead against Ianto, appreciating his lover’s heavy breathing – so many lovers, so many kinds of lovers across so much time and an immortal learns a thing or two about the art of sex.  Jack knew he could conjure Ianto a mind smashing orgasm here in this doorway without loosening a button on his Hugo Boss suit (Ianto would later correct him, “Torchwood pays sufficiently. I only buy from Savile Row.”).  Maybe at some point Jack would do just that, but not tonight.  This was different, Ianto was different, somehow, in some way he couldn’t admit.  “Hell”, Jack thought, “Who’s deconstructing now?!”

“Come here”, Jack said while already pulling Ianto back to the living area.  He thought of the couch but he didn’t want Ianto thinking again, considering the whole time how to get stains out of leather, and instead pulled out a chair from the dining room table.  Jack loosed the tie before he removed Ianto’s suit jacket and vest and tossed them on the table.  Ianto reached over to prevent the vase from spilling over his clothes.  But when he looked back at Jack, he got a scowl.  “Stop!” Jack commanded, “There is plenty of time, LATER, for your OCD.”  Jack smoothed over his remark with a charming smile and started unbuttoning Ianto’s shirt.  Ianto’s eyes followed Jack’s hands at each button, which made Jack slow down just a bit.  When he got to the last button from the belt, Jack took his index finger and in distracting gesture, moved the finger up to just underneath Ianto’s nose, tickling it slightly.  This caused Ianto to blink and rock back a bit before recognizing Jack’s jest. 

Ianto grinned, laughing internally at his intense shyness and uncertainty.  He removed his silver cuff links, a gift from his sister at his last birthday, and rolled up his sleeves like someone about to tend to something important.  At this moment, in his experience, usually someone says or does something sweet or endearing.

“Sit,” Jack instructed, knuckles pressed into his hips and standing like George Reeve’s _Superman_.   Ianto dropped to the chair wondering if he bitten off more than he could take on.   Jack ignored Ianto’s quizzical look and continued, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Ianto said breathlessly.

“You shouldn’t,” Jack said then walked behind the chair. Just as Ianto started to look behind him, he action was corrected by the sound of Jack snapping Ianto’s tie between his hands, the silk fibers left a hissing reverb that echoed down the seated man’s spine.  Jack tied Ianto’s hands behind his back, securing the knot just enough to make the scene exciting. “I’m not one to be trusted, Ianto, or didn’t Dr. Segal tell you that,” he said, noting that Ianto was showing no sign of objecting.  As Jack came back around, he noted Ianto’s erection pressing against his pants.  He didn’t look at Ianto’s face – he would later wonder if he feared rejection – another in a growing list of sensations this man resurrected from him, Jack would later reflect.

Jack got on his knees and deftly released Ianto penis from his pants.  He ran his fingers teasingly up and down the shaft a few times, as if to give his hand a sense of the span and vigor of it before continuing, “I’m not like you, Ianto.  I’m not a kind person.  The dangers of Torchwood are easy compared to being with me.”  He stopped stroking and settled on trying to firmly grasp the middle section.  Jack gave it one of his famous sidelong glances, enjoying is girth.  “But, I can promise you one thing, Ianto Jones,” he said as he massaged the pre-cum across the head, “It will never be boring”.

Ianto didn’t hear and didn’t care what Jack promised at that moment.  He was on fire and that thumb made his hips shoot up like chair cushion was on fire. Now that he knew he was fully in control, Jack charted Ianto’s arousal in his face, and moved his thumb to keep the intensity flowing at just the right level.  Ianto’s glossolalist’s moans reflected ecstasy from someplace unholy, otherworldly.  His eyes as his senses were restricted to his skin and an anticipation that was somewhere in the distance – a place he just had to get to now.  As Ianto’s head fell back, his bicep muscles strained against the bind, and his hips strained upward as far as they could manage, Jack took away his hands.  Ianto’s head snapped back, eyes fiery and pleading but Jack didn’t see this because a moment later he his mouth was around Ianto’s cock.

Ianto had only a limited experience with fellatio – Lisa, like many women, found it demeaning, so he only asked once and because he loved her, he never brought it up again.  The other times were the results of unmemorable, sloppy, late night shags in the bathroom during some mate’s house party.  “Amazing,” slipped from Ianto’s lips, which were nearly bleeding from his knawing at them.  He let his head fall back, as he moaned in some unknown language.  The warmth of Jack’s mouth and the moisture from Jack’s tongue shifted the rhythm and Ianto found himself following a new, slower wave.  And although he remained hard, Ianto could tell this was going to be altogether something different, something much better.  He found he liked the drippings of saliva that Jack’s downward stroke left on his pubic hair and how his head could just feel Jack’s tonsils.   He also relished the fact that Jack’s hand had to stretch just a bit to completely hold and successfully massage his balls.  On occasion, one of Jack’s fingers would caress Ianto’s gouch but never went any further, somewhat to Ianto’s disappointment.

Somewhere between that thought and oblivion, Jack’s mouth loosened, becoming a light but quickened stroke that focused on Ianto’s bellend.  While maintaining a firm hold around the head, Jack’s tongue moved in small circles.   If something was coming through the rift at that moment, Cardiff was doomed and the world was on its own.  Ianto’s body was a collapsing star and Jack’s mouth on his dick was the singularity consuming Ianto’s soul.  The spasms started in his lower abdomen, not his cock as in other encounters but where his Indian friend once told him was the sacral chakra.   Rolling waves moved from this energy center to the edges of his body like late evening tide.  The feeling was joyful, less of a sense of release than an expansion to the edges of his body.  When it was over, he began shivering because every pore in his body was open and exposed – he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or ashamed. Ianto later wondered if he had been masturbating wrong all these years.

Jack sat back on his heels, wiping the combined Ianto’s sperm and his salvia from the corners of his mouth then sucking it off his finger.  He looked at Ianto, dazed, panting, and a seemingly a bit lost slumped in the chair, ass so far forward in the chair, he threatened to fall.  Jack completely moved Ianto’s pants, suppressing a laugh when Ianto jumped at his touch and began shivering again.  Jack stood up and looked around for something to wrap around and warm him but only saw his long coat.  He grabbed it, turned around, and loosened the tie on Ianto’s wrists.  It took Ianto a minute to restore the sensation to his arms and he nearly fell off the chair completely trying to stand up.  Jack caught him and put the coat around his shoulders.  “I think you’d better lie down,” Jack advised.  Nodding and slight gesture toward the bedroom was about all Ianto could do.  Holding him up like a wounded soldier going to the medic, Jack guided him into the bedroom.

 

Prologue – Act Two

Hear the night music playing? Don't you know what it's saying?

We should feel it together forever

Feel the beat and just hold on to the sweet midnight flowing

Feel the music inside you, I'll be there too

Now's the time that our dreams are finally coming true

Feels so good we're crying

Now's the time when it's down to me and you

Spread these wings - we'll be flying

  * “Don’t You know What the Night Can Do?” Steve Winwood



 

This was usually when he would exit “stage right”.  But as he sat in the bed, next to a quietly, contently sleeping Ianto Jones – as he played nearly absent-mindedly with a misplaced curl on Ianto’s head and let that old feeling fall over him like a gentle snow on a Christmas morning, Jack Harkness could hear his conscious somewhere off in the distance screaming like a chastising nana.  By this time, he was spit sober and couldn’t even lie himself into believing it was the drink that brought him here, like the drink did on so many other occasions at so many afterhours bars across G-d knows how many worlds.  Nameless faces, sometimes tiresome encounters typically leaving a less than anticipated impression, easily forgotten with the next morning’s brief hangover.  He had hoped this could be . . . . “Who am I fooling,” he grunted to himself.

He looked around Ianto’s bedroom and grinned at how he had anticipated (fantasized?) its look so accurately.  Auster but elegant – warm, pale gray almost like fog walls with dark oak trim, 2 matching tall, four drawer dressers, door leading to a walk-in closet (with everything precisely in its proper place), Bose speakers with Bluetooth connection with the living-room’s system, a cozy armchair with a small side table and lamp, and track lighting strategically placed for correct illumination of Constellation-Mana, an original work of Kumi Yamashita’s shadow art series.  Jack noticed a nondescript leather bound book with a rather expensive looking but well-used fountain pen accompanying it.  He recognized it quickly as Ianto’s diary companion as he had seen the young man scribbling in it on a number of occasions.  He looked down on his sleeping lover as if asking permission to do wrong then eased out of the bed.  Jack was used to keeping floorboards quiet as he creeped and the object of his curiosity wasn’t far from the bed.  He hesitated, guilt leaked from his hands as his fingers caressed the cover – what could he learn from its pages that would stop him from leaving?

“Jack?” Ianto called without opening his eyes, his hand reaching out to retrieve some warmth he was missing.

Jack was not so much startled as irritated.  He was ready, he convinced himself, ready for this book to give him the reasons to bolt.  “It’s nearly morning.”

“Yes,” Ianto sat up, using the headboard as a second spine.  “Give me a second and I can get your things collected.”  He rubbed his eyes like a youngster readied too early for a school day.  As he reached behind him to turn on the light he said, “I’d imagine everything is dry by now.”  He rubbed his eyes again, adjusting to the new light.  He finally looked directly at Jack, the new sun’s rays just making out his silhouette.   _It could stop here_ , Ianto lied to himself before offering, “Do want something to drink?  Water, coffee, or . . .”

“I’m fine . . . .” Jack said initially only to immediately regret it – he hated that look Ianto got when he couldn’t figure someway to be of service – he was like Mr. Carlson when the Crawley’s were out of town.  “On second thought,” he immediately interjected, “some toast and a coffee should do well.”  Ianto bounced out of bed toward the kitchen like a cheerleader just assigned an individual level 8 stunt.

Ianto had taken the room’s warmth out with him and the sudden chill Jack felt caught him off-guard.  As he grabbed a throw from off the chair then put it around his shoulders, his eyes again to drawn toward the diary lying invitingly on the side table. 

_March 23 rd – He’s returned.  The others are pissed but glad to see him, Gwen the most.  Wonder how that is going to go now that she’s engaged to Rhys?  _

_March 24 th – Things are moving fast.  Captain John Hart – I reckoned Jack would go for something flashy – is one of Jack’s lovers.  What did he see in him that warranted two years (or was it two weeks) in a time loop?  But, Jack did ask me out albeit in the most conventional way.  What do you wear on a date like that?_

_March 26 th – He’s been dead two days now.  Gwen has held vigil, ever left his side.  I can’t.  I can’t stand looking at that gray, plain face.  I smell his coat to remember his bright smile, thinking wishes will bring him back._  
  
---  
  
Jack scrolled past some mundane pages reflecting Torchwood activity, noting that nothing was written about his “resurrection”.

_April 23rd – Conflicted!  Jack seems to have forgotten about asking me out.  I seem to be the focus of his sexual teasing one minute whenever he catches me alone.  Is he ashamed of me or something?  Is Owen right and I’m just some shag in the night – a shag that isn’t getting shagged (and do men shag one another and does that hurt)?  Yet, why is this bothering me anyway?  He’s some urbane galaxy-traveler so what would he want with me anyway.  No, my therapist says I underestimate my worth.  Lisa used to say the same thing._

_April 25th – It’s almost time for Tosh’s yearly date with our young man from the Great War.  Her eyes are full of preparation.  It’s good to see her that way – she deserves this especially considering her unnecessary pining over unavailable Owen.  But who am I to talk?  I’m in love with a man who thinks the only thing I’m good for is as a pin cushion for his fingers!  My sister’s right, I need to start dating again.  Maybe that new girl at the coffee shop._

_May 2nd – Linda’s her name.  She’s nice enough.  Smart. Knows her coffee.  I should be thrilled but all I talked about all night was “my work” and “my boss”.  I didn’t give any real details, which is probably why she thought me strange and did not return my texts._

_May 4th –Dr. Segal said I should take a stand and I will now.  Tommy’s gone, so the work is settled.  I’m not sure what I’m going to say.  “Hey Jack, what about that date you promised a while ago, eh?”  On second thought, that sounds silly.  But he’s up in his office and everyone’s gone home so this is a good time.  At least if I make a complete fool of myself, none of them will notice – I blush too easily._

_May 4 th – Amazing. He’s kissed me before but this time it was different.  He initially seemed to want to go further, to what I don’t quite know, but he hesitated.  Did he notice my erection cuz it didn’t go away until I got back to the flat and worked it through in the shower.  I reckon it was a bit amateurish.  He did say we’re going out this Saturday.  He was actually rather insistent.  Strange but brilliant!  I’ve got to pick up a new tie – I wonder if I have enough time to pop into London and see Danny at Anderson and Shepard!!_  
  
---  
  
Jack remembered that kiss too – it was delicious and if he thought he could have gotten away with it, he would have fucked Ianto then and there.  What Ianto wasn’t aware of is as Jack pulled away about to push the young man back on the desk, he caught a scent that bothered him.  “That’s where that terrible perfume smell I got from you that day came from, eh?” Jack said to himself, “You got farther than what your diary admitted.”  He immediately felt ashamed of himself upon realizing that he’d asked Ianto out that day because the smell of another person on him, albeit faint, made him jealous – “Did you fuck her or just kiss her goodnight?” ran roughshod through his mind.  But, Ianto’s voice from the kitchen led Jack to quickly close the diary.

“Jam or butter?”

“Both.  It isn’t like I have to worry about cholesterol or Type II diabetes, now do I?!”  Jack started to pull the throw tighter around him and head toward the kitchen when Ianto came back to the bedroom with a breakfast-n-bed tray.

“My sister gave me a pair of these a couple of Christmases ago,” Ianto proudly offered.  “Nice to have a chance to use them!”  Bacon, eggs over easy, toast prepared to order, and black coffee – all smelling like love.  Ianto looked at Jack expectedly, motioning him back to the bed, “Well, come sit down!”

“Yes sir!” said Jack who until then didn’t realize that he was hungry.  He got back in the bed after letting the throw fall dramatically on the floor, meaning he was completely naked again.  He got under the covers and Ianto presented the tray over Jack’s lap.  “My compliments to the chef – it is rare I get such service,” he said while tugging at the apron tied around Ianto’s otherwise naked body.

Ianto kissed Jack’s forehead gratefully, took his coffee mug from the tray, then sat himself on the other side of the bed.  Jack ate greedily, as he was prone to and Ianto sipped quietly for some time before asking, “Tell me about two years trapped with Captain Hart,” Ianto said as he knew there were two ways to get Jack to talk, booze and food – however the former got the straightest, clearest answers.

Jack chuckled a bit then sighed in acquiesce.  “It’s really rather boring.”  He took another bite but continued talking, as was his way, “Not much to tell . . .”

Ianto put his half-finished coffee cup on the tray and leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes to give a visual to the story Jack was about to reveal.

“John was a cadet like me,” Jack recalled.  “I joined the Time Agency straight out of college.  It was a way to prove to my parents that I could be on my own.  He was always getting into trouble with the training officers – he seemed to enjoy that more than the idea of joining the corp, I don’t know.  Sometimes me and the others joined in, just to have some fun if we’d had too much drink during a leave but usually we ignored him.  We all wanted to graduate after all.”  Jack opened his eyes, starred across the smooth, cream colored ceiling conjuring what was for him a very distant memory, “Like I said, he had a crush on me and one day, when were we supposed to paired on a simulated mission, he must of rigged the equipment and locked us both in a time-loop.  However, between drugs he’d put in the water and my gullibility, he had convinced me we were going to be there forever, marooned together It felt like two years but when the authorities unraveled his plot and extracted us, it turned out to be only two weeks,” his voice trailed off into regret with a ting of anger.

“You were in love with him?” asked Ianto.

Jack thought a moment then said, “No, not really.  I was young, dumb, and maybe more homesick than I was willing to admit to myself, so it worked.  The authorities were embarrassed that a trainee had so easily manipulated an Agency computer system, so we both got off with a slap on the wrist.  The punishment was the teasing I got from the rest of the cadets – I wasn’t as sophisticated as I am now, so it was a tough last few weeks in training.  Rabbi Teelbaulm was my captain then and played interference so it didn’t get too bad –still.”

“A rabbi in space?”

“You’ll meet HER soon enough – she was like, like a mom to me then.  She left the Agency shortly after I did.  I lost track of her until I had been with Torchwood for some time.  Rabbi Aliyah is a true immortal, born to it.  Without her help, I’d just kept trying to find ways to kill myself, over and over again.  She’s in charge of Torchwood Tel Aviv – they have one of the oldest rifts on Earth.  Some say it was the first rift and the real ancestors of the 12 tribes of Israel.”  He cracked his neck and rested his hands behind his head before finishing the story and offering Ianto reassurance, “Eventually, John and I graduated.  We went our separate ways.  I would hear about his exploits from other Agents or occasionally run across him on intergalactic pleasure ships.”

“There are red light districts in space?”

“Yes, I’ll take you to one sometime – it’s hilarious!”  He saw Ianto’s bewilderment from the corner of his eye and chuckled.

Prologue – Act Three

You only need one man to love you.

But him to love you free like a wildfire,

crazy like the moon, always like tomorrow,

sudden like an inhale and overcoming

like the tides.  Only one man and all of this.

-              Unknown author

When the story’s visual faded to black in Ianto’s mind, he opened his eyes confident that Captain John Hart and others of his elk were not a threat to relationship with Jack now – this was going to be different.  Ianto started to wonder if the space/time traveling gigglio was a smoke screen, a façade, something he was going to, could break into.  Time and persistence was something Ianto Jones did well – he had infinite patience too and he realized he would need it here, with this man.  He blocked off the questions that would later slip in and temper his self-assurance – how does a time traveler who can never die stay interested in a mortal?  Instead, Ianto focused on the moment and in this moment, Jack Harkness was in HIS BED in HIS FLAT at THIS TIME.  So, with the same courage he had used to kiss him at the Hub, Ianto moved the tray from Jack’s lap to the floor then said, “It’s Saturday, the Hub is closed, and I’m not done with you yet,” and he moved to straddle Jack.

Jack laughed at his partner’s enthusiasm but held his against Ianto’s chest and with a firm, low tone said, “Wait,” which startled Ianto back onto his heels.  Jack leaned over the side of the bed where Ianto had heretofore placed the breakfast tray.  He took a chunk of butter onto his fingers smeared it inside his backside.   Although the action made sense on some level, it still shocked (and thrilled) Ianto.  Jack turned to his side while grabbing Ianto’s penis and pulled it and its owner definitively toward his backside, placing the tip firmly against his anus.  “Inhale then push in slowly,” Jack instructed.  Ianto nodded into space, braced his hand on Jack’s ass and die what he was told.  Jack’s moan was soulful and bewildered Ianto initially.  “Stop thinking!” Jack commanded breathlessly.  “Breath!”

Ianto exhaled and Jack pushed him all the way inside him then stopped, his rectal muscles throbbing incessantly against Ianto’s shaft.  He had never felt anything like it before and he thought he’d loose his mind when Jack began to move back and forth against him slowly.  Jack grabbed his hand and wrapped it around his waist which shook Ianto loose from falling off a sexual cliff.  The more slow and insistent the thrusting, the more powerful Ianto felt and he found the rhythm that got those indescribably, unexplainably delicious sounds from Jack Harkness.  And there was this spot, this one place that if the tip of Ianto’s dick hit just right, he could feel Jack shutter uncontrollably.  He began concentrating on that spot and was rewarded with pleading.  “Don’t stop, please,” Jack grunted.  He didn’t stop but increased the speed, ever so slightly until he could feel Jack’s hole tighten just a little more and his ass quiver like waves in during a summer storm.  But things shifted rapidly, unexpectedly and Ianto Jones had an organism he would later reference mentally when he answered Martha’s questions about Jack’s love making – “inventive”.

Ianto couldn’t believe what had just happened to him.  He’d just fucked the most fuckable man (likely) in the universe!  It felt so good, so powerful, and yet he was uncertain if it was enough.  Through his panting and still accelerated heartbeats, Ianto realized that Jack had not come – Jack had not ejaculated during this entire night and that couldn’t be right!  Was he, had he done something wrong?

Jack turned over and noted the dissatisfied look on Ianto’s face.  He immediately recognized it.  Reeducation was required, “I’m what is referred to as a “dominant bottom.”  Jack raised up and rested his face on his hand, elbow anchored against the pillow where his head had before lay, giving himself a good eye contact with a concerned Ianto.  “My pleasure comes from experiencing the pleasure of my partner,” he looked up for a second, “or partners . . .” Immediately, Jack realized that the last bit was inopportune and quickly adjusted, “I get pleasure from your pleasure.  It makes me feel … the sensations are indescribable . . . “ Jack started to fall back into the previous moments but quickly realized Ianto was not yet with him.  He changed tactics and gave a directive, “Ianto, when we are at the Hub, watching the rift, stopping aliens, keeping the world safe, you serve me.”  That got a grin at least.  This time Jack leaned in for emphasis, “But when we are here, here alone, in ‘bed’, it is about me pleasing you, OKAY?”

Ianto would have clapped like a Euro Disney show but chose adult dignity instead and remained thoughtful.  “So, I can have anything I want right now?”

Jack leaned back a bit, wondering which bottle the genie had just arose from, “Yes.”

“I want to watch you come.”  Ianto was now the one to sit up on his elbow, his face eager, anticipating.

Jack wasn’t sure about this – _Closer, closer, I am a moth loving the fire_ , he thought as he lay on his back.  _Only so close, only so close, I can’t let him touch it, too close_.  He lathered his cock with the butter then took Ianto’s hand and placed it around, mid-shaft.  With that same greased hand, Jack moved Ianto’s hand, using a well-known rhythm, up and down.  When Ianto’s hand would grip too firmly or the stroke become too quick, Jack would tug at it.  When the caress and tempo was just right, Jack laid back, falling almost inside the mattress, letting it all wash over him – giving into it all.  _I just wanna feel his love for this moment, just this moment and then I can ignore it, control it_ , was the lie he told himself.

For his part, Ianto was a quick learner – once he realized what got the best reaction, he tempered things, making it last as long, just as Jack had done to him.  He first felt Jacks thighs shake and Ianto leaned into Jack’s neck, kissing and licking his shoulder.  It initially distracted Jack, changing the direction of the sensation only to immediately return like dedicated lightening into his pelvis.  “Ah damn Ianto,” Jack groaned while exploding streams of cum all across the sheets.  Ianto would not change these for days.

Jack pulled Ianto so that he lay snuggly against his chest.  Ianto liked this a great deal as it affirmed to him that Jack was pleased.  As he contently fell asleep to the slowing of Jack’s heartbeat, little did he know that Jack Harkness was quietly crying, finally acknowledging to himself that he was in love.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Skype call came into her private line.  “Dr. Segal?”

“Yes, Rabbi Teelbaulm.  How are you?” Segal responded like it was a call from a collection company.

“It’s done,” the rabbi declared.

“Are you sure?” another stupid question for although she did not know the Talmudic scholar personally, her reputation as an extraordinary psychic was well known around Torchwood’s upper administration.

Aliyah appreciated Segal’s hesitation, “The 456 are returning soon.”  She took off her reading glasses and sighed heavily, “It is the only way.”

“But Ianto . . . ,” Segal pleaded, “there has to be another way.”  As unprofessional as it was, she had grown very fond of Ianto Jones and felt corrupted by her involvement in the Institute’s plot.

“Jack won’t do it otherwise,” replied the rabbi.  As if in consolation, she added “They will have some time together – I will make sure it is good for both of them.” 

The call ended.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
